Hanging on by my fingernails.

I swear to the sweet 6oz chocolate baby Easter bunny, the Lord is testing my sanity.

There is mold in my apartment. So much mold that my landlord needs us to move out. So much mold that despite me having asked to see the report multiple times, she has not produced it, and instead is showing us better apartments than ours and is negotiating lower prices than asking prices on our behalf.

I don’t even want to think about how bad it must be here. I keep trying my best to ignore it. I mean, I’ve been living in it for 3 years now, so why should I start freaking out now every time I breathe, right?

So now there’s the fun of finding a new place. And the fact that I haven’t been posting here because I’m fucking miserable on the inside and having a silent fight with my best friend and am waiting as patiently as possible for it to be convenient enough for her to decide to come over and have the heart to heart she says she wants, since I’m apparently the worst friend ever.

But let’s not forget the normality. The fucking immense pain I’m in, especially in my back, knees, and ankles. That pain specialist that Dr. G. was supposed to send me to? DENIED by my HMO because it was at UCLA. So they rerouted me to a pain specialist that was in network and 20 days from now, I will be seeing someone.

20 days from now.

I see Dr. G again on the 15th. That’s in 6 days. I will have gone an entire 6 months, begging for pain medication, and having none, aside from medical marijuana, which I am under-utilizing because it is motherfucking EXPENSIVE. How’s that for some care?! *THUMBS UP!*

I wanted to commit suicide again today. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I just wanted the pain to go away. It was after Adam spat at me, during a heated moment in a fight over an apartment, that I “Lord my MS over [him]” in our decision making process, which of course spiraled into an unnecessarily out-of-control fight because when it comes right down to it, he was feeling MS’s controlling reach… and he thought it was me.

When we both realized that we were fighting because of MS, things got a lot more calm between the two of us.

You. and me. and the MS make 3.

I wish I could make an MS doll and beat the snot out of it.

But our fight today made me think about things that absolutely HAVE to be present during apartment shopping in any good relationship that people who suffer with chronic illness have:

1.) consideration not just for the other person, but for the other person’s illness when it comes to choosing a new living space, and

2)sensitivity to how difficult it is coming to terms with the fact that you now have to consider the importance of handicap accessibility both to the apartment itself, and once inside, the amenities, space, and layout you need in order to maintain comfort.

For people like me, a new apartment is almost like a new life. I spend all day at home, almost every day. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I go out, but not lots… so finding the right one (and quickly) is very important.

I recognize over and over again how lucky I am that Adam is in my life. He helps keep me safe from myself and whenever we start fighting really hard, it’s almost always fighting MS and not each other. There are times I feel like I hold on to him hard while the storm that is the uncertainty of life with all of *this* pulls at me.

I used to have an LJ on here with kitten in the name… and I feel like meditating on one of those “Hang In There, Baby” posters. You know, the ones with the kitten hanging on a tree branch, well more like hanging OFF a tree branch… but you get the point. You know the kitten could pull itself back up, but it’s got to hang in there.

Especially on days where I do a *lot* – like today – when I’ve gone the distance to drink a Rockstar Juiced and throw 110% in there: I still somehow always feel inadequate… but I can pull myself back up. I always do. I just have to hang in there.

Adam made sure to remind me that I’m so much better today than I was a year ago today. Or a year ago before then. He says I’ve been fighting. Since I barely remember the last 2 years, aside from TV and shaking and pain, I have to believe him. I’d like to, but I don’t feel like I have fight in me, so it’s hard to believe that I’ve BEEN fighting. Though, I guess the lack of fight in me is evidence that I’ve used “fight” up, so I must have been fighting. *shrug*

I hope, if this MS “thing” ever ends and I ever just feel “like myself” again, there’s anyone left who will want to hang out with me.

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